


I'm sorry I said that (We'll be okay, I promise)

by mymomcallsmemax



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Found Family, Heavily Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Hospital AU, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, Not a ship fic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempts, all my sleepy bois will leave this fic unharmed!!, big tw for anyone whose ever tried to OD because that description gets graphic, especially for my boy wilbur, heavy on the comfort, nobodyactually dies tho!!, sbi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymomcallsmemax/pseuds/mymomcallsmemax
Summary: tommy wasn't fucking suicidaltechno just didn't want to be alive anymorebut fuck wilbur wanted to diePLEASE READ THE TAGS THIS BOOK IS SET IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL AND IS ABOUT SUICIDEALSO I HAVE NO IDEA HOW MENTAL HOSPITALS IN THE UK WORK, I TRIED MY BEST
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 31
Kudos: 229





	I'm sorry I said that (We'll be okay, I promise)

Tommy didn't mean to end up here, really. It wasn't premeditated or anything, but when he was standing there, looking over the edge of the building he couldn't help himself. He'd never really thought about the prospect of dying, never wished for it. But here, standing on the edge of a *very* tall building, he couldn't help but think it would be a good idea. It wasn’t necessarily a wish for it to end, or that he had been suffering, it just seemed interesting. And sure, he knew logically that that was a stupid reason to kill himself, but Jesus Christ he was bored. Boredom in itself wasn’t anything new to Tommy, neither was going to extreme lengths to quell it, but this was undoubtedly another level for him.

So in front of his mother, little sister, and a crowd of people, he'd taken a running start towards the banister. It was a nice day to die, he thought. The sun was out, and he had just had ice cream. For once he wasn't in trouble, as he so often was, and there would be no consequences for this. Tommy liked the idea of no consequences. He liked the idea of dying in one of the rare times he wasn’t in trouble, and he didn’t know when he would get another chance. He was so close to the banister, but in his haste he had failed to notice a man standing around two feet away from where Tommy had been aiming, but the man sure as hell noticed him. And fuck if this guy was going to let this kid, who couldn't have been more than thirteen, throw himself off a building. 

When the man had stepped in front of him and absorbed the force of a 5’7 child, running full force at him Tommy had one thought in his brain, "fuck". Now there were going to be consequences.

Techno’s situation was slightly different, but similar in a lot of aspects. He didn’t really ‘long for the sweet release of death’ (as Wilbur would later put it, in what was more a slight against himself than it was either of the other boys) either. But it was slightly more planned out than throwing himself off a building on a whim. He went with the good old fashioned stomach-full-of-pills approach. He was ready to die, but not ready for the pain that anything more drastic would cause him. Sure he’d thought about the people he would be leaving behind, and the things he wouldn’t get to enjoy, but death seemed so easy. Nothing he had struggled with would ever bug him again and it just seemed so simple. Little did he know, a fist full of ibuprofen hurt like hell going down.

He’d thought it would be easy, and painless. That he would just fall asleep and never wake up again. It had been torture. He swore he could feel his blood slowing down in his veins, he lost feeling in his legs and his stomach hurt so fucking bad. His breathing became laboured, and he couldn’t will himself to walk to the bathroom to throw up the pills, his legs kept failing underneath him. He had to get the pills out. Out. In a moment of desperation he had called an ambulance.

Wilbur’s situation was probably the hardest. He had no one that he was leaving behind, and nothing he enjoyed anymore. He went with a tactic that later, in group, he would jokingly refer to as Overkill. He just wanted this to be over, he wanted to be done. This was planned, and it was going to work, his plan had been fool proof. He lived alone, nobody was supposed to find him in time. But they did, because of course they did. His landlord was coming around to collect a check he had been late on paying (one that he had no intention of paying, either), she knew he was home and when he wouldn’t open the door, she got sick of waiting and unlocked it herself, maybe it wasn’t legal but she was sick of Wilbur. 

He hadn’t closed the bathroom door, and that much was visible from the foyer. She screamed, oh she screamed. Lying there, in a tub full of red colored water, her tub, was her tennet, high out of his gourd. He turned to her with a smile and lifted his hand to wave before wincing and looking back down at his wrist.

“Fuck, that hurts.” He observed, grimly. He was seemingly unbothered by her scream, she doubted it even registered as any more than a small sound in his head. He seemed to have little to no reaction to anything until he heard her phone an ambulance. She saw the moment it registered in his spaced out mind what she was doing, and he was out of the water before she could say anything. She backed away, perhaps in fear, she wasn’t sure, before something unexpected happened. Wilbur dropped to his knees in front of her, one solid motion that would have been graceful if not for the thunk of his wet knees hitting the solid floor, and he started begging with her to hang up. “Please, please don’t do this,” it had gone on until the paramedics arrived, he had been to out of it to realize that she had finished the call. 

They showed up at the asylum- “It isn’t an asylum Tommy, we’re here to help.” -one by one, Tommy coming first. And Tommy did not belong here. This place was chuck full of lunatics and he was not a lunatic. He was fine. He had made a mistake, sure it was more drastic than any mistake that he’d ever made before, but it was just a mistake nonetheless. 

And no, it wasn’t a “call for help” and he wasn’t “internally suffering” and he most certainly didn’t “feel trapped”. The group counselor liked to use these phrases over and over until Tommy just wanted to scream at her, “I’m not sick and you can’t convince me I am!”

The worst though was when they tried to put him on medication. He didn’t need medication, he was fine. He wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t even relatively sad. They tried to tell him that he was bipolar depressive, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t. 

The only good thing about this place was his personal counselor, his name was Phil and he was the only one who understood Tommy. He got it. He knew Tommy shouldn’t be there, he knew that Tommy didn’t belong and he treated him as such. Tommy had never been more thankful to be treated like an outcast in his life. Phil didn’t even ask him to talk about his feelings anymore, instead when it was time for their appointment, he put out crayons and markers and puzzles and just let the boy play. Sure, they would have friendly conversations, but it wasn’t like Phil was trying to pry his sadness out of him, they would just talk. The closest they had ever gotten to a therapeutic conversation was when Tommy was first put on his medication and Phil had asked him why he felt he didn’t need it. Tommy hadn’t spoken for the rest of the session after that, and Phil never asked again. Tommy also noticed they quickly stopped giving him the pills.

Usually though, their conversations were simple. Sometimes about Tommy’s friends, sometimes about his school work, and sometimes about his family. And sure, maybe that sounds therapeutic, but Phil talked about his life too. About his wife, and how they just found out she couldn’t have kids, how it didn’t really matter because she didn’t really want kids anyways. When Tommy had asked “Well, what about you?” Phil had just huffed a dejected laugh and said it didn’t really matter. Things were tense for the rest of the hour, and Tommy never brought kids up again. He had cried that night, he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was for Phil, maybe it was because there were people like Phil who wanted kids so bad and just couldn’t have them and people like his dad, who hightailed at the sight of a crib, got two. That night, for the first time in a very long time, he allowed himself to feel the absence of his father.

Wilbur arrived second, only a week and a half after Tommy, and Tommy only took notice of him because of the bandages still on his wrists that he never seemed to stop scratching, and the fact that he never spoke in group, even when he was directly asked to. Tommy could only imagine one on one counseling with this motherfucker. He shuddered at the thought, hopefully Phil wouldn’t have to deal with him. This was the kind of guy that belonged here, he needed the help, and for the first time Tommy felt guilty instead of angry. There were people out there like this kid, like Wilbur, who actually needed the help that these people offered and here Tommy was, perfectly healthy Tommy, taking up their time and resources instead. This was the first time Tommy had openly expressed sadness to Phil.

Wilbur didn’t like this place one bit. He knew distantly that he needed the help, but he never stuck on that thought for long, always brushing it off with “I don’t need help, I need to die.” He figured if he just didn’t talk, they'd have to kick him out at some point, but his counselor was the worst. He didn’t bother remembering her name,in fact, he made a point not to learn it. Holy shit, what kind of therapist doesn’t have fidget toys in their office? She was literally the worst.

He officially met Tommy about three days into his stay, and strangely enough, they clicked instantly. It was in group because that’s where anything interesting here had seemed to happen so far, and Tommy stormed in, late and fuming. 

“You told Phil I needed medication!?” Wilbur vaguely remembers. “I don’t need fucking pills, I’m not crazy!” Wilbur had snorted breaking the silence in the tense room. The group counselor had been frozen, and Tommy’s head snapped towards the older boy, and surprisingly, his eyes softened slightly, but he did not relent. “What? You think I am? You think I belong here?” He wasn’t quite shouting anymore, but the question was still asked incredulously and angrily. Wilbur could tell he wasn’t expecting a response, not that the brunette could blame him for that.

“I just think that if you didn’t need to be here, you probably wouldn’t.” Panic flitted across his face and he had his voice lowered, question arrose in Tommy’s stormy eyes, and Wilbur nodded to the rest of the patients in the room, obviously none as accustomed to shouting as the two. Tommy was still pissed and he grabbed Wilbur’s bicep, carefully avoiding the bandages, Wilbur noticed and pulled him to his feet.

“Tom, wait-” the counselor stood, presumably to stop him, but Wilbur waved her off. Usually she wouldn’t have listened, but this was the first time she had seen Wilbur willingly interact with anyone, so she let them storm out; something she would later be reprimanded for, but wouldn’t regret.

Wilbur stumbled after the slightly shorter teen and threw a lazy smile over his shoulder, relaxed eyes meeting the counselors worried gaze. He saw her clear her throat and turn to what was left of the group as the door slammed shut behind them. When the door closed he turned to look at Tommy, who was still marching with Wilbur in tow. 

“Where to, little man?” Wilbur asked, satisfied with the way Tommy stumbled over his own feet at the sound of his voice. The younger quickly righted himself and trudged on. When the boy didn’t answer, Wilbur thought it funny to continue. “Whose Phil? Is he your therapist? I’ve yet to see a guy one, I’m sure-” Wilbur was quickly cut off, not by a voice, but because Tommy had thrown a look over his shoulders that shook him to his core. It was pure worry. Wilbur wasn’t sure what he should do, but he was sure he shouldn't keep talking, something about his voice seemed to set the younger off. He walked them to the Rec room, which as usual was loud, and pulled him to a relatively empty corner with a small table with a chess board and a few chairs around it.

“Do you know how to play?” Tommy had asked it quietly, but not shyly, more tentatively, and Wilbur was starting to get whiplash from this kid's moods.Wilbur nodded, and the kid continued, “Good, cause I don’t.” Wilbur laughed a little, but quickly clamped his mouth shut and looked to Tommy to make sure he was okay with the sound, the teen just rolled his eyes in response. Wilbur took that as his que to speak freely.

“Am I allowed to ask what in God’s name just happened?” Wilbur almost winced at his own words, this was just a kid with obviously very delicate emotions , but quickly pushed it down at the sound of a laugh.

“If you really want to know,” Tommy replied, teasing. Wilbur felt something like a punch to the gut at the kid's smile. He was a cute kid, Wilbur observed.

He nodded, “I do.” 

Tommy’s smile seemed to only grow. “I was late ‘cause I was talking to Phil, who is my counselor, by the way'' Tommy answered Wilbur’s previous question before it could be asked again. “He said Niki wanted me on SSRIs for bipolar disorder, or something? I’m not sure. Anyways, I got mad and you laughed, I’ve never heard you make any noise before, and usually I wouldn’t yell at people in an asylum,” Wilbur snorted again, that was a good word for this place, “But I was just so mad, and you interrupted me, so sorry bout that.” The kid finished, not looking sorry at all, and Wilbur honestly felt winded because what?

He had seen Tommy before, heard him speak a few times, and he did not seem like the type of person who apologizes, but then he remembered the look he had been thrown on their way to the room they were currently occupying. He opened his mouth to ask but Tommy held up his hand and looked intently at the chessboard while speaking. “Then you just kept talking, and people could hear you. They could hear you, Wilbur.” He said looking up to the older teen and realization flicked across Wilbur’s face. He didn’t necessarily have trouble with people hearing his voice, he was just stubborn, and thought it better that he made that clear.

But Tommy had thought it would be a trigger. Tommy had been worried. Why?

Wilbur decided to voice these thoughts. “I’m fine, kid,” It felt weird calling him Tom when they hadn’t been officially introduced. The boy in question looked relieved. “Why do you care anyways? It’s not like you really know me.” It wasn’t asked rudely, just curiously. 

Tommy seemed to understand the intent, and he was never a secretive person, so he answered honestly. “I’m not entirely sure, you need to be here more than me, and I didn’t want you to get freaked out when you realized what you did, so my fight or flight kicked in.” Tommy explained and cast a curious glance up from the chess game he was pretending to know how to play to once again be met with Wilbur’s smile. He seemed to do that a lot, for someone who is actually suicidal.

Wilbur was still giggling lightly as he spoke, “Your fight or flight?” He questioned breathlessly. “Tom,” Wow, he had been right, it was weird to use his name, and he visibly cringed at the way the younger's eyes lit up in amusement. “Why do you think I need to be here more than you? Bipolar depression is a real problem and you sho-” Wilbur was getting real sick of being cut off by this kid.

“I’m not bipolar, dude.” Wilbur didn’t know enough about the boy to know if that claim was justified or not, but he nodded along anyways. “I’m perfectly normal, it was honestly a fluke, but they won’t believe me.” He sighed, continuing whatever the fuck he had been doing on the chessboard, and Wilbur looked down and realized it was his turn again. He stole Tommy’s bishop with one of his pawns- just because the kid wasn’t playing correctly and had no idea what he was doing didn’t mean Wilbur couldn’t still kick his ass at it. 

“But you,” Tommy said, attention once again back on the conversation, “you came because you needed the help, and I look at you and it’s just like ‘God, why am I in here?’, you know?” 

Wilbur absolutely did not know, and if he thought for a second that this kid's intentions were anything other than pure, he would have stormed off. And that was a building block of the relationship that began to blossom between the two, Wilbur’s understanding.

They had known each other for about a week and a half when Wilbur cried in front of Tommy for the first time. They had been in the cafeteria, it was dinnertime and Wilbur had shown up with dread in his eyes and collapsed onto their usual table without even looking at Tommy. 

“Hey big man!” He had yelled, immediately excited by Wilbur's presence. He had so much to tell him, Phil had said he could bring him a book on astronomy! He immediately shrunk at the visual of Wilbur shaking. His head was laid in his arms which were folded on the table and he was shaking. He didn’t know what to do, he knew some people liked hugs, but other people didn’t like to be touched when they were sad. Which kind was Wilbur?

“Wilbur?” He started, he was met with a shaking, broken sob. “Hey man, what’s up?” He decided to refrain from touching until he was directly shown otherwise, coming to the conclusion that the risk was not worth the reward. He didn’t have to wait for long though, because one of Wilbur’s arms untangled from the heap under his head and reached across the table, palm up. Tommy’s hand was in his before he could blink, and Wilbur was gripping onto it like a lifeline. 

Tommy decided to keep telling his story, “You’ll never guess what Phil said today big dubs!” his tone still held the same excitement, but he was noticeably more quiet this time. “He said he’d get me a book on astronomy! Isn’t that so fucking cool? I’ll finally get to teach your lame-ass about the stars!” He said and Wilbur shifted so his head was resting on his arm now, and he was looking at Tommy with a lopsided smile, and Tommy knew his reaction had been correct. 

Wilbur opened his mouth, but only a choked sound managed to escape, and both boys flinched before he cleared his throat and tried again. “My counselor won’t shut up,” he started, and Tommy decided Wilbur would never cry again if he had anything to say about it, because fuck, he sounded wrecked. “She keeps pretending she knows more about me than I do, and it’s getting really,” he paused for a shuddering breath and angrily wiped his tears with his free hand, he was sitting up at this point. “really annoying.” he finished, and Tommy nodded, in what Wilbur perceived as understanding but in what Tommy meant as comforting. For the second time, Tommy stood, pulling Wilbur with him, his bandages had been removed, but Tommy still took special care to avoid his wrists. This time, Wilbur felt comfortable enough to question him. 

“Tommy, where the hell are we going?” He asked, it wasn’t an unusual experience to be dragged somewhere unknown by Tommy, but it was strange everytime. 

Tommy turned to him with a face splitting smile that would have made Wilbur flinch if not for the genuine excitement that leaked from the boy. “To Phil!” He said, once again turning away from him and dragging him through the crowded cafeteria and to the counselor hall. Wilbur was too confused to form an honest question. The younger marched confidently to a room towards the end of the hall that was marked P. Craft, and Wilbur’s brain finally started making sense of the situation when he saw the ‘In session’ sign hanging from the doorknob.

“Absolutely not, Tommy! He has someone in there right now!” Wilbur whisper yelled. 

Tommy huffed indignantly, “Well I don’t want you going back to whatever her name is!” Tommy obviously didn’t have the same premonition he did, as the younger had no qualms with his loud voice in the otherwise silent hall. 

Wilbur looked at him incredulously. “Tommy I’m going to have to go to her until I leave, if you want to talk to your counselor, I can wait here with you but you cannot barge in during a session!” Wilbur was still whispering as he dragged him to some uncomfortable chairs across the hall and sat him down. He went to follow but he heard a door open behind him and froze. Fuck. 

He locked eyes with Tommy and was met with that familiar blinding smile. At the sound of a throat clearing, he turned around slowly, expecting a furious counselor, but was instead met with a counselor with a stern look on his face and amusement in his eyes. “Tommy, would you like to explain why you are interrupting my meeting with Techno?” Wilbur’s eyes widened at his obviously joking tone, and he turned to Tommy. 

“You gotta be Wil’s counselor, Phil. You just gotta!” Tommy started and Phil held up a hand, silencing the kid instantly and Wilbur blanched at the power he held. 

Phil chuckled. “Can this wait?” He asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer, and Tommy shook his head viciously. 

“Absolutely not! I can’t let him see that evil woman again.” Phil raised his eyebrows and turned around and walked back into his office. Wilbur wondered for a moment if that was the end of it, but that thought was shoved out of his head as he heard the counselor speak to whoever was in his room. 

“Techno, you wanna get a little unconventional today?” 

“As long as I don’t have to participate.” Surprisingly it was an American accent, and holy shit where were the emotions?

Phil turned and held the door open, looking at the two expectantly, and while Wilbur was lost, Tommy seemed to be five steps ahead, already dragging the taller behind him as he all but ran into the office. Wilbur locked eyes with someone with long pink hair, who had seemingly just moved to a bean bag that was placed in the corner that -holy fuck, a beanbag?!- he assumed to be Techno. The kid just looked bored, but before he could stare at them any longer, he was pulled into a chair in front of what he assumed was Phil’s desk. 

“So you’re Wilbur?” Phil addressed Wilbur had to stop himself from a snarky seems like you already know. Phil seemed to read his mind and chuckled before continuing, “Tommy has talked about you quite a bit lately.” Wilbur watched the boy flush from the corner of his eye and his lips turned up slightly. 

“Has he?” It was like he’d known Phil his whole life, he was immediately comfortable with the man. Wilbur reached up a hand to ruffle Tommy’s hair, but Tommy quickly grabbed it and lowered it. Nobody missed the way he didn’t let go. Phil chuckled again.

“Now what is this about an evil woman?” Phil asked, in a slightly more serious tone and Wilbur froze for just a second, but that was all Tommy needed to swoop in.

“His counselor is an absolute bitch, Phil!” he leaned into the older man, conspiratorially, the older man went along with it, and leant forward as well. “She made him cry Phil. Cry! Isn’t that like, the opposite of what you guys are for?” He asked in a tone that would imply he himself had been betrayed by the system, and in his eyes he had. Phil’s face took on a serious undertone, and Wil saw the shift. “You gotta take him on, Big P! You just gotta! I can’t let him go back to her.” 

Wilbur watched as Phil reached into his desks top drawer and grabbed something small and colorful out of it, handing it to Tommy. Tommy immediately latched onto it, still not dropping Wilbur’s hand. Wilbur smiled a little at the gesture, and turned to the younger. Sure they had only known each other for a week, but in a place like this where each other was all they had, they stuck to each other quickly, only really separating when they had to, so Tommy’s refusal to let go of his hand didn’t really come as a surprise to Wilbur. Evidently it came as one to Phil, as he wouldn’t stop staring at their clasped hands.Tommy was still breathing pretty hard in his seat, but Wilbur just chuckled at him. 

“I’m sorry…” He trailed off, waiting for Phil to introduce himself. Not because he didn’t already know his name, but because walking into a new psychiatrists room and immediately referring to them by their first name seemed unprofessional, if not daunting. 

“Phil.”

“Phil. I got Tommy worked up, it wasn’t my intention.” He said. Tommy turned a fiery gaze to him.

“Tell him, Wilbur. Tell him what you told me.” The younger insisted.

Wilbur breathed in deeply and sighed it out. “Tommy, it looks like Phil is busy, and I’m sure that Techno over there doesn’t appreciate us running out their clock.” he finished, gesturing vaguely towards where he had seen the beanbags earlier.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all.” Techno interjected, helpfully. Wilbur cast an incredulous look over his shoulder. “His, by the way.” Wilbur’s expression didn’t soften, but his head snapped back towards Tommy and Phil and was met with two, almost matching smiles. 

“So, Wilbur, who's your counselor?”

Wilbur shrugged, “I don’t know her name. She’s like two doors down from here though, if that helps?”

Phil nodded. “Tommy seems pretty adamant that you’re placed under my care, why do you think that is?” If it hadn’t been for Tommy’s hand in his own and the feeling of Techno staring into the back of his neck, he would have forgotten there was anyone else in the room. He felt so singled out by the question that he wasn’t sure it mattered they weren’t alone anyways.

“I just had a rough meeting, that’s all. Tommy thinks pretty highly of you, and I know his intentions were to help,” Wilbur paused for a breath, he’d planned on continuing, but Techno started speaking before either man could continue their conversation.

“He thinks pretty highly of you too, ya know?” Phil looked at him and instead of the angry reaction Wil had been expecting, he just cracked a small smile.

“I thought you didn’t want to participate, king of the beanbags.” Phil stated, jokingly.

“Yeah well, that was before it got interesting,” The pinkette stated, sitting almost in front of Wil on the desk, but just far enough to the left that all three of the people on chairs could see each other still. “Now, you know you wouldn’t be here if Tommy didn’t look up to you somewhat, right?” He asked, pulling his legs up on the desk, moving to sit with them under him. 

“Well, yes, but-” Wilbur started, only to be cut off by Techno yet again. God that was getting annoying. 

“No buts. It was a simple question-- and I heard yes-- did you hear yes, Phil?” He asked, twisting to the man in question. Phil just nodded and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, letting Techno take over for the moment. “So, tell us about this meeting, Wilbur.” The way his voice never wavered from the monotonous drawl would have put Wilbur off if he didn’t find it strangely comforting.

“It was just a rough meeting. Everyone has them, I dealt with it and I’ll be fine.” He hadn’t quite snapped, but his voice had taken on a serious undertone, Techno stayed unperturbed. Phil slowly pushed his box of tissues across the desk and Wilbur realized there must still be tears on his face. 

“I don’t know if you know this, but dude you’re still crying. That seems like a little more than a rough meeting.” Wilbur snorted.

“What is he, your protegee?” 

“If that’s what you want to call it. Either way, he’s right. This seems like more than just one meeting.” Phil’s voice was affirming and sharp, it’s obvious intention being to get the truth out of Wilbur. Said boy tensed, and Tommy’s grip tightened around his hand. Wil didn’t miss Phil’s eyes flickering to it and softening slightly.

“Why does it matter?” His attitude was back, and Tommy was quick to notice. “This whole place is shit anyways. I’m just gonna get out and end up suicidal again.” Tommy immediately put the toy down on the desk and crawled into Wilbur’s lap. He may have just found out that Wilbur’s love language was physical touch, but all stops were pulled at the mention of his suicide attempt. As expected, Wil wrapped his arms around the boy and released a shaky breath into his hair, closing his eyes. Techno was the next to speak.

“You can’t come into this with that mindset and expect to get better.” 

“Who says my intention is to get better?” Phil wouldn’t have been sure he heard it right if it weren’t for the way the blond in his lap froze and tightened his grip on Wilbur. Techno sucked a breath in through his teeth, his obvious intention had been to say something about that, but Tommy beat him to it.

“I do. You have to get better,” a small sob escaped his lips and Wilbur tightened his grip on the boy and started whispering reassurances into his hair. “You have to, Wilby.”

“Tommy, breathe with me, bud.” He started. “We’ll be okay. I’m sorry I said that. I’ll get better, I promise.” As he slowed his breaths for Tommy to match he realized, he wasn’t sure if what he just said was a lie or not. Phil did not miss the way Wilbur said ‘we’ but he figured that was something to bring up with Wilbur alone, Techno didn’t have the same issue.

“Can’t help but notice you said ‘we’ll get through this’.” He pointed out. Wilbur wasn’t sure what he meant by that. “Are you convincing Tommy or yourself?” He tensed, and Tommy felt it, and Phil saw it. Finally, he intervened.

“Some part of you wants to get better, Wilbur. I’ll talk to your counselor about having you placed on my roster, but this session ran out two minutes ago and my next patient is due any minute.” He didn’t have to say anything else, Wilbur was already standing up, still holding Tommy who was crying so hard Phil doubted the boy even noticed the movement. Wilbur’s stance was quiet as he looked at Techno and nodded towards the door in a silent “follow me” that Phil didn’t miss. 

The door shut behind them and Phil sighed, rearranging papers on his desk. This would be interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gonna try to do multiple chapters whats fucking good  
> would yall wanna see different members of the smp? if so who?  
> also yes im working on the next part to S.S. pseudonyms i just got distracted


End file.
